


No One Left to Blame

by tamerofdarkstars



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Grief, M/M, POV Second Person, Prompt: Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1534244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamerofdarkstars/pseuds/tamerofdarkstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You’d imagined the complete annihilation of the entire planet, crashed chords on your piano through war and peace and famine and floods, but never once had you imagined having to face the future alone."</p>
            </blockquote>





	No One Left to Blame

**Author's Note:**

> So, my sister gave me as a gift a list of prompts ranging from simple to super crazy and complex and I love every single one of them, but for some reason, Prompt # 4 - Character Death, was the one I chose to fill first. 
> 
> I listened to What About Everything by Carbon Leaf (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PeU0ONa-_cw) on looped repeat while I wrote this.

All the leaves should have fallen by now, but there are still a few stubborn ones clinging to their branches, trembling weakly in the wind over your head.

The leaves that have fallen crunch, loud, beneath the heels of your boots as you clump down the sidewalk. You haven’t seen another soul since you left your hotel – not particularly surprising, considering the hour.

You step into another pool of dirty light and pause, checking your pocket quickly and sighing in relief when your fingers close around it. You squeeze the object in your pocket once, feeling it through your gloved fingers, before slipping your hand out of your pocket and continuing on your way.

It’s only a fifteen minute walk, but it has taken you weeks – months – to screw up the courage you needed to make it. And even now, you’re still making this trip at night, when no one else is going to be there.

You’re a coward.

It’s dark – twilight has come and long gone by this point, and you dig your little flashlight out of your other coat pocket, switching it on. The gate is locked, but you expected that. It only takes a few minutes for you to scale the fence, jamming a polished shoe into the spaces between the bars and hoisting yourself over in one smooth motion. You catch your pants on a sharp point at the top of the fence and there’s an unpleasant tearing sound as you drop into the dewy grass on the other side.

Your hand goes to your thigh and you feel warm blood.

“Shit.” Your soft, heart-felt curse is instantly swallowed by the heavy dark and you begin to make your way forward down the path. You can’t linger - you don’t want anyone to spot your light bobbing in the dark and call the police.

Not when all you want to do – all you need to do – is just say goodbye.

A car sounds behind you and you switch your light off, freezing in the dark as it roars past, muffler gone, rattling and spluttering like the dying breath of an old man.

You wait for several seconds, feeling your heart pound adrenaline in your ears as you drown in the blackness around you, before you flick the light back on.

You keep the light trained on the path, following the circle it makes on the dirt.

Despite your horrible sense of direction, it doesn’t take you long to find it – you’ve had its location memorized since the funeral you didn’t attend.

Your thigh stings as you stand over it, staring down at the modest gravestone with its crisp lettering, still untouched by weathering or teenagers with spray paint.

You suppose you should say something – that’s what you came here to do, after all.

But you just can’t get any words out. The flashlight pools a perfect circle of light over his name and you trace over each letter with your eyes, following the grooves carved in the marble, almost detached, like you’re trapped in some strange bewildering dream.

You swallow, hard and take a deep breath.

“Hello.” You whisper. It’s all very intimate, just you and the gravestone and the night. Not even the moon is watching right now. “Sorry… Sorry it took so long. But I made it. I’m here now.”

Your throat closes so swiftly you almost gag, and your hand goes to your throat as your eyes begin to burn. “You asshole.” You choke, and the wind stirs the crackling leaves around your ankles. “You absolute asshole. How… how could you just…? You just gave _up_ , you c-coward.”

The tears are falling now, and the flashlight dips, dips to the dirt in front of the gravestone. Someone – you think you know who – left flowers nestled right at the base of the grave. You bend down, kneeling in the wet grass and soft earth and reach out to touch them. You’re sobbing, breath hitching as you suck in air to feed your frustrations, your grief, your absolute aching and ragged emptiness ever since that night, those weeks ago, that midnight phone call that shattered your whole world.

It’s raw and painful, like stiches that keep getting ripped open, like a wound dripping in blood with broken glass, razor sharp at the edges.

You’d think you’d be used to it by now.

“What about… everything? What about your l-life, you ass? What about me? What about your friends, your f-fucking family?” You put the flashlight in the grass, propping it against a mound of dirt so it shines on the grave, casting a sharp shadow into the cemetery beyond. You stare down at your knees, clenching your fists so hard your nails break skin.

“What about the house? What about that… that lady at the coffee shop on the corner who always… gave you an extra shot without asking whenever we’re—we’re there? Someone’s g-gonna have to tell her, you absolute fucking selfish asshole!” You slam your fist into your knee, before you just can’t support yourself any more, and you collapse in on yourself like a broken marionette.

It’s too much. Everything is just too much.

“What about everything?” You whisper, helpless, pressing your wrists into your eyes, letting your tears soak into the rough fabric of your jacket. “How am I supposed to k-keep on living like nothing’s wrong?”

No one answers – you’re alone in the cemetery, truly alone, surrounded by empty monuments, their dark shadows stretching towards the sky as their words weather away and their owners decay below them.

You sit for a long time. Your legs cramp and your toes go numb, but you don’t move. You just kneel there, in front of the grave, and methodically sort through all your memories together. Every time you think you’re out of tears, that you can’t possibly cry any more, that there’s no possible way you haven’t drained every bit of moisture from your body, you remember something – some beautiful, painful memory, of a smile, a hand gripping your shoulder, a hug – and you lose it all over again.

“We worked so hard to find somewhere to just _rest_.” You croak into the early dawn. “This isn’t… this isn’t what I wanted.”

No matter what you’d thought the future might be like, no matter who won wars or what happened to borders, you’d never imagined it like this.

You’d imagined the complete annihilation of the entire planet, crashed chords on your piano through war and peace and famine and floods, but never once had you imagined having to face the future alone.

Finally you force yourself to stand, forcing your protesting muscles to stretch and contract as you get to your feet. You rake your arm across your eyes – your throat is scratchy, your eyes dry and aching, your head pounding and you don’t actually feel any better.

You’re beginning to suspect you never will.

You stare down at the gravestone again, burning the image into your mind. Somewhere, the city is stirring, groaning its way back towards wakefulness. Night has passed into early dawn.

You reach down into your pocket and your hand closes around the object you brought with you. You found it, somewhere in your things, when you were trying to sort through some of the more painful memories left in your house and you knew almost instantly you couldn’t keep it.

It looks almost right, hanging draped on the headstone, the black silk ribbon dangling over the back as the black Prussian cross winks in the early morning light.

You reach out and touch the G in his first name, letting your fingers trace the cold, damp marble before falling, limp, to your side.

“Auf Wiedersehen.” You whisper. It’s the only words you can get out. And really, standing alone in a graveyard in the dewy morning light, it’s all you want to say.


End file.
